Too funny! I must type with an accent, when combined with my French name would lead readers to think me French.
I'm actually an American -- but like a majority of Americans, I have a rich heritage. My mother's family migrated from France before 1650 to Nouvelle France, settling along the banks of the St. Lawrence River. My grandfather was born in Canada, spoke a little Canadian French. He married a woman born in Finland but who had settled with her family here in the U.S.; my grandmother spoke both English and Finn at home.
I buy my saucisse from a small local charcuterie owned by a family whose patriarch was born in Germany. Their fleischwurst is like a fine-grained mortadella, rich with garlic, too. And their smoked blood sausage is nearly identical to that I recall my French Canadian family members serving when I was a child.
Being an immigrant in the U.S. can be pretty demanding; the dominant culture pressures newcomers to conform. This is a key reason why nationally-recognized brands of a rather bland food became so readily adopted; it was easy to assimilate and meld with other highly diverse people by sharing the same cultural habits including foods. The post-World War II era also put a lot of emphasis on the marvels of engineering, including foods that were deemed better because they had been "designed." Hence the emergence of rather bland foods like our bologna and our vitamin-enriched white bread.
Fortunately we've come to appreciate our diversity more than we have in the past. I can revel in my sister-in-law's Greek/Cypriot roots, knowing I will dine on some of the finest Mediterranean foods at her house. Other in-laws on both sides of the family are Polish, including cousins who own a well-known butcher shop producing stupendous sausages. And then there's my dad's family, who are Chinese, Japanese, and Polynesian. If you've never had sashimi fresh out of the ocean, you don't know what you're missing. Or hot malasadas, originally made by Portuguese sailors and popular in Hawaii. Don't get me started on my godmother's mostaccioli, made from her Italian mother's recipe -- I will kill for the stuff, so good.
America is most definitely a melting pot -- or a potluck buffet. Given the richness of our cultural backgrounds, you can surely understand the depth of sarcasm in the phrase, "as exciting as bologna on white bread."
I'm actually an American -- but like a majority of Americans, I have a rich heritage. My mother's family migrated from France before 1650 to Nouvelle France, settling along the banks of the St. Lawrence River. My grandfather was born in Canada, spoke a little Canadian French. He married a woman born in Finland but who had settled with her family here in the U.S.; my grandmother spoke both English and Finn at home.
I buy my saucisse from a small local charcuterie owned by a family whose patriarch was born in Germany. Their fleischwurst is like a fine-grained mortadella, rich with garlic, too. And their smoked blood sausage is nearly identical to that I recall my French Canadian family members serving when I was a child.
Being an immigrant in the U.S. can be pretty demanding; the dominant culture pressures newcomers to conform. This is a key reason why nationally-recognized brands of a rather bland food became so readily adopted; it was easy to assimilate and meld with other highly diverse people by sharing the same cultural habits including foods. The post-World War II era also put a lot of emphasis on the marvels of engineering, including foods that were deemed better because they had been "designed." Hence the emergence of rather bland foods like our bologna and our vitamin-enriched white bread.
Fortunately we've come to appreciate our diversity more than we have in the past. I can revel in my sister-in-law's Greek/Cypriot roots, knowing I will dine on some of the finest Mediterranean foods at her house. Other in-laws on both sides of the family are Polish, including cousins who own a well-known butcher shop producing stupendous sausages. And then there's my dad's family, who are Chinese, Japanese, and Polynesian. If you've never had sashimi fresh out of the ocean, you don't know what you're missing. Or hot malasadas, originally made by Portuguese sailors and popular in Hawaii. Don't get me started on my godmother's mostaccioli, made from her Italian mother's recipe -- I will kill for the stuff, so good.
America is most definitely a melting pot -- or a potluck buffet. Given the richness of our cultural backgrounds, you can surely understand the depth of sarcasm in the phrase, "as exciting as bologna on white bread."